Itai
by Rayne-Jelly
Summary: Some pain leaves a lasting impression. Duo reflects on some of the more painful moments in his life... Years old and still a favorite.


Author's Note: I really don't have anything to say… that has to be a first, I'm speechless.  I guess I'll just say that this is weird, but I like it, and my best friend likes it, and it's not inherently disturbing, so READ AND REVIEW!!!!! Please?  

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing, but if I did, I would have life sized Lego sculptures of everyone of my Bish… I don't own Lego's either T_T 

~Itai~

            It never ceases to amaze me, how people talk about the nobility of war and peace, the struggle for the good man to come out on top.  When I hear those stupid spiels on the necessary loss and the just man being victorious, I just want to laugh, or hurl.  It would be quite the thing to do, right in the middle of some politician's twisted attempt at a seat of power, to just crack up.  They always try the same methods to convince people to support them; tax cuts, a promise to bring the ever increasing drugs off the streets, vows to keep our children safe as if they'd be standing watch outside our doors armed with a big stick and a shield made up entirely of justice.  It's all the same shtick, and when it comes down to it, a popularity contest, who'll win? Tide or Gain, Downy or Bounce.  God, laundry analogies, I've cracked.   

            Heero would beat the shit out of me if I ever pulled a stunt like that though; he takes all their long winded promises seriously.  That or he's just too damned caught up in his work to care.  Protecting Relena Peacecraft has to be the worst, most painful, tedious job on the face of this earth and beyond; but Heero does his job dutifully, and I follow because I need him.  

            Damn, it hurts so bad when Heero hits me.  You'd think I'd be used to it by now, I mean, I live with the guy and he has a bitch of a temper, but I don't think I could ever get used to that.  It's not so much that I feel betrayed every time he does it, we've made no commitments to each other, it's just… he's strong as all hell and just getting slugged in the gut could kill you.  

            I got walloped so many times during the war.  When I wasn't battling for my life in DeathScythe, I was watching some meat-hook-fist come flying towards my abdomen.  That hurts like a bitch, right into the solar-plexus, it rips all the air out of you and leaves this hollow, wasted feeling; if you don't throw up, you pass out, that's how it works.  Jesus, Trowa hit me, Heero hit me, the Ozzies hit me, even Sensei O (for whom Wufei apologized profusely); I had a perpetual bruise there; and every time it happened I would sink to my knees and whisper "Ite…" biting back a scream and/or tears.  Thankfully I'm the pass-out type, that's demeaning enough; I don't want to imagine what I would look like throwing up on someone's shoes.

            Where was I?  Oh, right.  The too-many and little-varied speeches of the common politician, that's where I was.  Did you know, there is no 'better man,' it's not the good guys who win the war, because there are no good guys.  Quatre's not even a good guy, not really; for all that he's sugar-coated-sweet, he has a mean streak, he's killed and wallowed in the mud just like the rest of us.  I really pity the people who put Quatre on a pedestal, they swarm around him like flies on fresh shit, not caring about the bloody details and the insanity that he's displayed on multiple occasions; all they see is the innocent little millionaire that got dragged into a nasty, mean old war, and somehow retained his innocence.  Quatre's a better actor than I am, I swear he's no more innocent than you're average whore, just a whole lot better at looking the part.              

            I tried to explain that to Trowa once.  He's one of the many people I pity; he looks at his little blonde like an angel sent to rescue him from the trenches.  I tried, I really tried to save Trowa from his own illusions, but he pinned me up against a wall and threatened to make my life a living hell if I ever insulted his angel again.  That hurt too.  It's a weird feeling, being shoved against concrete and held there by a grip you know you'll never be able to break.  It's intimate in ways that I'll never be able to describe, the sharp throbbing pain as you're head smacks against the wall, and the raspy sound of your own breath as someone's hand closes around your neck.  In those moments, before you turn purple and see spots, you know absolutely everything about your attacker; you're so close to him that you can smell what he had for lunch, and you can feel the angry heat radiating off of him in waves.  

            I hate the way Trowa has a habit of shoving his thumb under my jaw tilting my head to the side and grinding my cheek bones against the tacky cement bricks.  When I finally managed to gasp out that I was sorry, he dropped me and left me to re-fill my neglected lungs.  I was only trying to help him.  "Ite…" 

            I despise not existing anymore.  I wasn't particularly fond of being universally feared either, but at least during the war I had an identity.  I was someone worth recognizing, not just the random man that everyone sees at parties, but only a selective amount of people recognize.  I guess its better this way, without a name, no one can hunt me down for revenge. I killed a whole lot of people, and I didn't exactly keep it a secret; I could just imagine some kid come knocking on my door saying, "My name is Indigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die."  Hell, I probably wouldn't have known the particular instance in which I killed Montoya's father. That's the thing about taking out Ozzies, they're all so anonymous, there's very little room for recognition, and what little there is, gets all used up by Zechs, Trieze, and Noin.  I probably would have killed Hilde too if she hadn't been cute; Hilde was one lucky little girl, she managed to betray the army right in the middle of an uprising, and not get killed by either side.  I must say, I was impressed. 

            Not that Mister Montoya wouldn't have deserved it; I'll bet he gave me my fair share of hell too.  I was a war prisoner three times you know; pretty much everyone got a shot at old Duo. In those days, well, let me just say that army men are lonely, not at all like we terrorists (insert sarcasm here).  There are no wives on base and frankly, many of the men recruited were almost too young to have wives; the few female soldiers on base would sooner kick a guy in the balls than sleep with him.  So, what did those dear and lonely soldiers do when the nights got too cold for them?  They dropped by my cozy little cell for a visit.  Ah the soldiers, some of them were actually kind of cute, and it's a good thing I swing that way, otherwise I'd have gone insane.  

            Most of the higher ups were sadists; I guess all that responsibility gets to them after a while.  They're like giant mother hens with armies of errant children to look after; one aberration in the routine and they fly off their rockers.  Bastards.  Alex was the worst, Heero asked me what had gone so terribly wrong – what had put me in such condition – the first time he rescued me, to which I promptly lied to him.  The blonde lieutenant wasn't interested in sex for the sake of company like the others, Alex wanted pain, control; Alex far exceeded my typical 'bastard' standards, Alex was a sadistic bastard, the uber bastard.  His buddy Mueller was just a simple voyeur, what a perv., he doesn't have big enough balls to participate, so he watches from the sidelines.  Ass hole. 

            But like I said, Alex wasn't in it for the sex; that is to say: he got it, but that wasn't his primary objective.  Basically Alex just wanted to hear me scream; I know because he told me so.  I guess that makes him a cliché, sadistic bastard.  So, said mean guy kicked me around my cell for a bit, but it's not like there was anywhere for me to fall; that cell was like a maximum security closet – the second cell was better.  Despite the limited space, Alex managed to cause quite a bit of damage.  I was a bloody heap on the floor long before he turned to rape.  

            I hate that word, rape; it makes me feel like such a victim.  I am not a victim, I'm a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy, I accept things and move on.  Well, I sure as hell rolled with the punches that day, the kicks too.  By the time Alex left me alone, I was an unmoving wreck on the grungy cell floor.  I never would have given him the satisfaction while he was in hearing range, but when he was gone, I allowed myself a tiny and pathetic, "Ite…"

            God this is boring.  This coming out party, the perfect excuse for debutantes to weasel their way into more money; its torture.  I don't know how Heero stands to be anywhere near these things, but like I said, I'll follow him because I need him; Heero means the world to me.  Soon he'll signal us to leave, I know it.  I'll be munching on something that I managed to snag from the buffet table, and Relena will demand that she and her 'escort' go; Heero will catch my eye and I'll follow them back to her estate in my own car so he doesn't have to catch a cab back home.  I don't know why Relena doesn't just have one or two of her body guards take her to these things, she pays them well enough, and the attempts on her life have been steadily decreasing.  Then again, I guess I do know why she only ever takes Heero to formal events, treating him more like a date than a protection service; even I have to admit he looks good in those tailored suits standing with the most elegant (read: richest) people in the world.  This too is an agony, but one I would gladly suffer for him. 

            I'll be home soon, Heero and I will hang up our jackets, I'll kick my way out of my shoes, and he'll loosen his tie.  I know him so well it's almost like having a second body, I can play him like a violin.  I'll wrap my arms around his waist from behind, just enjoying how solid he is, and he'll probably turn around to return the hug.  We may stand there for a while, or we may kiss, it all depends on how grumpy he is.  He will be cranky, that's a given, he hates spending time with Relena in a casual setting, he hates spending time with her in formal settings, in fact, I think the only time he can really stand her is during business meetings where she doesn't have the authority to speak anyway.  We both work for the Preventers, it suits us and Une is a good woman; a good woman with a firm hold on Relena.   

Heero will probably flop down on the couch and brood, I'll sit next to him and try to bring him some relief from his own head, but it won't work; I might even try to rub his shoulders, but he'll shrug me off.  I too will shrug and wander off in search of some food, I'm always hungry when I get home from these things, but Heero will grab my braid and yank me back towards him.  He thinks my hair is a leash, and I do my best to protest its misuse, but Heero never listens to me.  I'll get up in search of food again, and this time he'll let me go; no one is capable of keeping Duo Maxwell from his dinner for long.  Heero will follow me, he'll start kissing the back of my neck, he'll try to undo my belt buckle, but I'll turn away from him.  I'm not the insatiable lust fiend that everyone thinks I am, and seeing Heero with Relena makes me jealous, no matter how hard I try to deny it.  Heero will try some more, but I'll just keep turning away; he will rage and scream at me about my possessiveness, and I won't be able to keep my mouth shut.  I'll probably call him a hypocrite and say some nasty things that I don't mean.  Heero will lose his temper, he will probably throw me into a dresser, and something will fall on my head.  Did I mention that I'm a terrible violinist? 

"ITAI!!!"


End file.
